Pride
by Metempsykhosis
Summary: Alfred gets a tattoo. Language/minor fluffiness.


I might be getting myself another tattoo this weekend making my third, if not there is always October as my design isn't finished yet.

**Summary:** _Alfred gets a tattoo._

* * *

This was not going to be easy. Arthur seemed to have a knack for flipping out for absolutely nothing in his old age. The days of the 1980s and his pirate years long since over with. Now he was.. England.. and still picking fights with Francis.

However, he was going to have difficulty hiding it. It was autumn now, meaning it was hotter than usual, even with the windows open. Wearing long sleeves was not an option, fainting due to heat would only cause the older nation to panic and touch.. lots of touching. Touching means discovering, discovering leads to yelling, yelling leads to irritated skin being touched.

The whole thought made Alfred shudder. The artist instructed him as to what to do and how to take care of it for the next week for the healing process. Now all he had to do is dodge the bullet that is Arthur Kirkland aka Iggy aka father figure. Francis already knew, hell, Francis went with him as the needle was dragged across his skin over and over. For a perverted bastard he was rather.. loving. The Frenchman held onto his hand, though he felt rather silly that he had to hold someone's hand, but Francis was there through the whole process, even if it did take several hours.

Standing in front of the door, Alfred sighed deeply. 'Time to run around the situation like Italians running from the enemy.' Without another moments hesitation he put his had on the door knob and turned it, ignoring the dull fire in his arm.

"Iggy, I'm home!"

"Stop calling me that you brat. _England!_ E-N-G-L-A-N-D!"

'Someone is more pissed off than normal.' In his mind, red flags were up, he had to get from the door way to the guest room to wash the blood out and put some ointment on it, but Arthur's mood made the tension in the air thick.

"So… how was your day?"

A deep sigh came from the other room followed by a book being sat down and the foot steps of sock clad feet on the floor.

"Okay, what did you do, Alfred?"

Damn.

"What are you talking about, Arthur?"

The elder nation looked at his former colony rather oddly, something was up and he would find out.

"What did you do, Alfred? Don't lie to me, I know you did something. I smell that frog bastard's cologne all over you."

_Fuck_, he forgot that Frenchman would marinate himself in fancy colognes. He should have walked back to this house, at least he'd smell like sweat and earthy smells. He could still get out of this! It wasn't over yet.

"So I smell like the bastard, is it really a crime for me to go visit with him?"

Feeling rather defiant, Alfred took the chance of brushing past Arthur without a glance, trying to keep his sore arm out of harms way. With luck it would work in his favor, right?

"Don't walk away from me when I'm speaking to you. I may not have control over you anymore, but you will not disrespect me in such a way."

Swiftly turning he grabbed the younger nation only to hear a piercing scream. His hand was wrapped tightly around the other nation's arm. One of Alfred's knees were on the floor as he tried to steady himself. The dull fire increased two fold. The rough texture of his shirt combined with his brilliant idea to take the bandage off and Arthur's death grip made him regret almost getting it done.

"Alfred are you hu-"

"No I didn't.. I mean I'm not."

Arthur didn't buy it. He spent so many centuries fighting with Francis to know when someone is lying to him. So the French asshole proved to have some use. Though he would never tell that to his face, might as well dig his own grave at that point.

"I got.. a tattoo."

Lost in the thoughts of his mind, Arthur answered without so much as a thought of what was said.

"Oh a tattoo, lovely. Wait what?"

"I got a tattoo done today and you're making my arm feel like its going to fall off, so could you please…?"

It was then Arthur realized he still had a death grip on Alfred's arm, the course fabric probably rubbing the already sensitive skin to bleed more than the needle. Quickly he removed his hand as if burned, letting the young nation steady himself with a deep breath before slowly unbuttoning the shirt and slowly peeling the fabric from the fresh skin.

It was a flag, technically it was four flags. Canadian, American, English and French flag all carefully etched into one single flag. It was bloody, which was to be expected, but it was sort of touching. Never in a million years would Arthur thought Alfred would wear the symbol of the English flag anywhere unless he was visiting, but now it was permanently embedded in slightly tan skin of a bicep.

"So, how much do you hate it?"

Hate? It was a faint warm and fuzzy feeling, sort of like after he had drank himself into a drunken mess. Alfred actually put his flag on his skin. It wasn't any sort of hate, but a reminder that in some way Alfred didn't mind him, even after taxing and going to war against him. It was nice, and it was forever.


End file.
